In Secret
by Bleeding Kunai
Summary: SEQUEL TO: SEWN SHUT... Why do I feel like this? I know everything isn’t supposed to be as a planned, but the pain is unbearable… Yuki, why is it like this? Contains Cutting and Suicide Attempts
1. Pain, Pain Go Away

**WARNING: This chapter contains material that may be triggering towards self-harmers. Read at your own risk.**

**Author's Note: **IT'S FINALLY HERE!!

First off, I'd like to thank all the reviewers on Sewn Shut. Thank you all so, so much for supporting something I wrote in 8th grade when I was feeling really depressed. I never intended for it to be a Gravitation story, I just started inserting names and before I knew it, there it was. Thirty plus reviews 2 ½ years later, I present you with the sequel.

Also… Sorry if it gets a little… Messed up after awhile. His thoughts get chaotic… A lot of this is metaphorical. I'm tapping into my own senses… Considering I feel the same before, during, and after I cut.

**Disclaimer: **I went on a mission to see if Maki-sensei would sell me the Gravitation and Genzo (Gravitation EX) series along with Remix and Megamix. Unfortuently, I was denied access to it, it seems that I have to know how to draw to gain its perverted wonders. Crushed, I went out to go buy candy and yaoi, lots and lots of yaoi to go sob my eyes out to while a drool at the sodomy played out against the pages as I stuff my face with the wonderful Japanese candy that I had just obtained. Maybe Kishimoto-sensei will give me Naruto (Naruto has nothing to do with this story nor will be mentioned anywhere in the story, it's just my life long dream to own Naruto…).

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**Title: **_In Secret  
_**Genre: **_Angst/General"  
_**Rating: **_T  
_**Summary: **_SEQUEL TO: SEWN SHUT... Why do I feel like this? I know everything isn't supposed to be as a planned, but the pain is unbearable… Yuki, why is it like this? (Contains SH and Suicide Attempts  
_**Pairings:**_ SLIGHT Yuki/Shuichi... It's mostly one-sided, though  
_**Warnings: **_Rated for:_ SH (Self-Harm), suicide attempts, and language.

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**Key: **"Talking" _'Thoughts'_

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**In Secret-  
Chapter 1:**_ Pain, Pain Go Away_

I lay awake on the couch in Yuki's living room, my fingers gently moving along the scars on my lips. It hurts to talk. I raise my arms up and stare at the pure -_clean_- white bandages wrapped there. He had asked me "Why?" when the self-sewn stitches were removed. I had wanted to answer, but I stopped myself from doing so.

I could hear the quiet clicking of the keys on Yuki's laptop spill out from underneath the cracks in the door leading to his sanctuary. I was left here to ponder the last three months during one of my attacks of insomnia.

The first month was -in my eyes- pure bliss. After I had been released from the hospital, after a short two weeks, Yuki had taken me home, put me on his bed, and stroked my head as he lay right next to me all night. He also only typed up his chapters while I was napping due to the _Prozac_ I had taken earlier. It was as if he cared about me with every muscle, blood, and any other cell that made up his nicotine-tainted heart. In other words, his attention was directed towards me in that first month.

The second month was slightly different, however. He had begun working on his novel while I was watching TV in the living room to calm the state of paranoia I was going through. Yuki ignored me a bit, especially when I had misplaced my meds and asked him where they were. It had pained my heart in this new treatment that I was enduring, but I had made it through.

This third, and current month, is horrendous. I'm stuck here wondering if maybe I've done something wrong again. Have I been stuck here too long and that's what's bothering Yuki? I'm not quite sure, he won't let me leave the house; God only knows why. I sigh, drop my head on the arm of couch, and shift my body so I'm facing the back of it.

I hear the door open and fight against my reflexes to turn into the living room to see if Yuki will just pass by or something. I really don't want to see him right now. My eyes are hurting and I want to sleep off the exhaustion, but my wandering mind refuses to let me do so.

I sit up slightly and support myself in between the armrest and the back of the couch. Shaking slightly, I reach over to the small table sporting a small lamp, an empty can of water, and pick up the small, silver remote that was also there. My fingers push the red "power" button and then move down to the "mute" button.

The skillfully acted scenes of an American TV show play behind the glass, captivating me with curiosity on what the plot was about. All I know is that someone is yelling…

My chest hurts now… I hear Yuki walking towards the living room. As I stare at the muted television screen, my breath is caught in my throat and I have to gasp behind my hands just to breathe again. My eyes don't shift in any direction and I force my self into tunnel vision so I can't see out of my peripherals. I don't want to see him… I can't. The sudden presence is too hard to grasp onto and I feel like going back to my safe spot… But Yuki nailed it shut, there's no way in.

I curl into a ball and bury my head in between my knees to stop the room from spinning around me. There's always the possibility of hiding in the shower, but Yuki needs to take his daily-four baths, and he's only taken two of them. I stretch back out when I'm sure that the room won't be spinning any longer and my eyes avert to the glass door heading out onto the patio.

Boxes, or crates, were stacked against the railings and there was a nice, small lawn chair pushed up against the right side. I contemplate whether I should sit outside behind the boxes to calm my current state of mind or not. I chew on the inside of my bottom lips and pick at the scars with my teeth.

After awhile of deciding, I push myself off the couch, causing my short-sleeved shirt with a hood to lie out nicely, ending right before my knees. My feet drag across the floor, the soles swell with rug burn. Sighing, I grab the handle and slide the door to the patio open; I step outside and am instantly greeted by a cold wind and the scent of oncoming rain.

I close the door behind me and stare out onto the streets of Tokyo. Such pretty lights… I pull the cover off the lawn chair and fold it in half behind the crates (three stacks, two to each). I climb over the boxes and curl up on the pad, my legs going under my shirt to block the cold from destroying them. My head rubs against the pole when I stretch and I curl even farther up.

My eyes fill with tears. I can't tell if it's the bitter wind hitting my face or if it's because my heart feels like it's going to explode. My head smacks against the poles. I feel masochistic, needing to cause myself pain. But my stupidity is never-ending. I shouldn't be afraid of him…

Thoughts intertwine and before I know it, my arms are exposed, bitten-up, jagged nails scratching at the deep red lines criss-crossing the forearms. My chest heaves from a silent laugh; a sudden burst of insanity.

Then I choke… Humor, insanity, paranoia, shame… All lodge themselves in my throat and I dig and scratch and pick and rip and mutilate my cuts with my nails until just a little blood drips out one on my wrist.

Chaos is gone.

I feel calmer. I don't think about how I have to hide these from him. My lying seems to work… He doesn't know that the cuts from three months ago are buried under an inch of scar tissue… He's convinced they're still there… For a writer, he's stupid when it comes to the length of time scars take to heal.

Oh, God…

I shouldn't think so poorly about him.

"I'm sorry, Yuki….

"I'll be a good boy…"

Tearing… Nails digging the dirt out of the deepest hole that started to fill up…

Please... Empty....

It pours out.

Instant relief.

I hate myself. I'm cruel. I thought hurtful things about Yuki. No wonder he hates me now.

I rub my face; hands moist with blood and tears.

I'll make you happy, Yuki…

I promise…

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**Author's Note:** Oh my God. I'm insane… This is NOT a one-shot people. I'll have more up soon… If you seem grammar errors, please notify me of where and what they are and I'll edit them right away.

Please review, flame, critique, anything. It's a drug.


	2. I Could Be a Candy Cane If I Wanted

**WARNING: This chapter contains material that may be triggering towards self-harmers. Read at your own risk.**

**Author's Note: **Oh, wow… Thank you to the people that reviewed the first chapter. I just watched THE best movies ever. First, _Public Enemies_, God Johnny Depp is HOT! And second, _Painful Secrets_/_Secret Cutting_. It was just… Wow. You'll hate the mother instantly. Sorry if my writing seems horrible this time around. I can't get anything out… Just think of it as seeing someone's mind when they're dysfunctional.

**Disclaimer's Note:** My name is not Maki Murakami. Therefore, I do not own Gravitation.

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**Title: **_In Secret__  
_**Genre: **_Angst/General"  
_**Rating: **_T  
_**Summary: **_SEQUEL TO: SEWN SHUT... Why do I feel like this? I know everything isn't supposed to be as a planned, but the pain is unbearable… Yuki, why is it like this? (Contains SH and Suicide Attempts)_**Pairings:**_ SLIGHT Yuki/Shuichi... It's mostly one-sided, though  
_**Warnings: **_Rated for:_ SH (Self-Harm), suicide attempts, and language.

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**Key: **"Talking" _'Thoughts'_

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**In Secret-  
****Chapter 2: **_I Could Be the Candy Cane at the "Meet Santa" Ordeals If I Wanted_

The bathroom door is locked, shower running; I can hardly breathe. Blood caked on my arm. Blood that's not supposed to be there. Why does he insist on taking four showers a day when he barely leaves his office to get dirty in the first place?

My body shakes as I walk to the kitchen; I'll have to deal with washing it with dish soap and a sink hose that barely works.

It hurts; fingers can hardly move, sponge etching away at my cuts, taking dried blood off with every sweep. I pray the shower doesn't go off. These still need to be rewrapped…

Just as my arm is only red from sensitivity, the shower, of course, stops. I freeze. I listen. Bandages pooled around at my feet, sponge dropped in blood-tainted water that refused to go down fast enough, arms pressed against my stomach.

The door opens.

I tense.

Walking is distant.

I get ready to bolt.

Once again, everything is caught in my throat. I'm scared. He can't know.

The door slams.

I sigh relief.

He didn't come in the kitchen. The Gods are on my side right now. I pick my bandages up and walk back to the living room, claiming my rightful spot in the corner of the couch. Curled up, I hum nonsense as I concentrate on wrapping my arms.

I relax, tired. My eyes close, thankful for central heating, otherwise I'd be searching for the space blanket. I tuck an arm under my head and the other is against my stomach. I should sleep in the bed, but I'm too afraid of what he'd do… Say if he saw me curled at the foot, almost falling off.

The lump comes, I swallow it down. I try to sleep, arms burning. Thoughts racing. They taunt me of what he'd do if he'd ever found out. They tell me he'd call me pathetic. That I deserve the pain. That he'd refuse me; refuse to touch anything as disgusting as me.

I feel like crying. Eyes dry. The knives call out to me; saying that they can make the pain go away. I tremble.

I just redid these.

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip.

Chew open the scars.

I make a hole.

Tiny.

Blood drips into my mouth.

Blood drips down my mouth.

I can't relax.

Mind continues to taunt me.

I'm too wimpy.

I can't try it again.

There are other places to do it other than my arms.

He'll never check my stomach. My legs. My chest.

I slide off the couch. Feet move towards the kitchen. Knife rack my destiny.

I take the sashimi slicer and head to the bathroom.

Door locks behind me.

I drop the knife of the counter and turn the shower on. I strip, folding my clothes nicely and setting them on the toilet tank. The knife comes with me as I slip into the shower, curtains drawn.

I take a deep breath and put the blade to my upper thigh.

I drag it.

Press harder.

I drag it.

And press harder.

Red runs down my thigh.

Water runs down my face.

I feel nothing.

No relief and no pain.

I do it again.

Down my thigh.

And then down the other.

I stare.

I can feel.

I lie down in the shower. The water is red. I smile the best I could. I wonder if I look sane. Lying in a tub of blood, smiling.

I clear my mind for a few moments before I stand back up, swaying slightly. I quickly wash my hair, wash the blood off.

The tub is empty and I redress.

I take my spot back on the couch, curling up and listening to his quiet cursing.

I tense as I fall asleep…

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**Author's Note: **Sorry this one sucked. I just wanted to focus on the actual cutting for relief part in here. It's hard to write when you can barely think. I'll try better next time.

Please review, flame, anything. I don't care. I just want more. More than _Sewn Shut_.


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